


The Noble Sport of Warlocks

by primeideal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon - Video Game, Community: interhouse_fest, Friendship, Gen, Quidditch, nonlinear timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ahead of the 2006 World Cup, Paula Finch interviews England and Scotland's new Chasers, who look back on their friendly rivalry in the league.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Noble Sport of Warlocks

**Author's Note:**

> For the Interhouse Fest on Livejournal. Prompt: Female bonding over being two women in the British and Irish League. Despite the presence of an all-female team (which neither of them play for), professional Quidditch is still very much a man's world. Friendly competition and kickass women! 
> 
> Thanks to nnozomi for betaing!

PF: May 2006... Paula Filch for the  _Daily Prophet_  interviewing Katie Bell and Heidi Macavoy. Thank you both for coming.  
  
KB: Thank you!  
  
HM: It's a pleasure.  
  
KB: There's a change.  
  
HM: A pleasure to be here with Katie, I mean, so I don't have to answer all the questions.  
  
KB: All right, that's more like it.  
  
PF: Well, you've both had interesting, and accomplished, careers. But I was wondering if you knew each other in Hogwarts, you were only a few years apart.  
  
HM: Well, a few years in different houses is a long time.  
  
KB: Yes, I was close to a couple of my teammates--the other Chasers, the year above me.  
  
HM: Mmhmm. I--kept to myself more, there were two other girls on our team and they were the same age as well. Younger than me, but always fighting about everything. Their classes, their classmates, Quidditch. So I kept my distance.  
  
KB: But I sort of recognized the other players, I mean, we'd pass in the hall--  
  
She's fourteen and bored. The novelty of electives has worn off but the stress of OWLs hasn't set in. The twins are being obnoxious but Angelina and Alicia don't seem to care. And the season has only just begun but already it seems they're going to be denied again.  
  
"Hey. K-Kristen?"  
  
"It's Katie," she says automatically, looking up to see the other girl approaching.  
  
"Right, sorry. No way I can keep track of everyone in that weather, but you fly really well."  
  
She shrugs. "That match was..."  
  
"Rubbish?" Heidi volunteers.  
  
And in spite of herself, Katie starts to giggle. "That's one word for it."  
  
"Ridiculous sport anyway, who decided the Snitch was worth fifteen times a goal?"  
  
"Barberus Bragge," she rattles off without ever considering that it might have been a rhetorical question.  
  
Heidi pauses, then grins. "Good one. He hasn't become a ghost we could tell off, has he?"  
  
Katie rolls her eyes. "What, haunting the moors? I don't think so."  
  
"What? Moors are very hauntable places."  
  
"Uh-huh, sure."  
  
"Yeah, okay, whatever. See you around, yeah? You do fly really well."  
  
PF: But you were older, Heidi?  
  
HM: Yes. As soon as I left school I signed with the Magpies reserve team, and after a couple years there I went on loan to the Stormers.  
  
PF: The—Stonewall?  
  
HM: Yes!  
  
PF: And what was that like?  
  
HM: Well at the time I was just appreciating the chance to play on the first team. In retrospect the quality of the competition isn't what I'm used to now but they were very serious about building a strong team, you know, instead of losing their fans to Quodpot. I'll tell you what, if there's one witch you don't want to cross it's a Quebecois fan who's still mad at the ref...  
  
PF: And Katie, you didn’t go professional right away?  
  
KB: Well, yes and no. The year after I left school was the worst of Voldemort's regime. I trained with the Wasps reserves on and off but I also spent a lot of time working in the Muggle world--call it my protest.  
  
HM: As a Muggle-born I had gotten lucky, I was gone before the worst of the crackdowns started.  
  
PF: So, Katie, what made you change your mind?  
  
KB: It was after the war ended. Several of my old school teammates--different years--had been killed. For a few months I was just sort of sitting around but then I told myself that isn't what they would have wanted, they'd want me to go out and give it my best shot.  
  
HM: Really?  
  
KB: I mean, I'm not sure what they would have wanted, you know, completely.  
  
HM: No, I understand, it's just...that's not how you strike me.  
  
They're in a Muggle neighborhood, near Katie's, and the flower shop is inexpensive and looks quiet. Perfect.  
  
"Do you have a minute?" Heidi asks. "I shouldn't be long."  
  
"Of course!" says Katie, and they make their way inside. Everything goes according to plan except when she's standing at the cash register, fumbling to convert into Muggle money.  
  
"Hullo, Katherine!" calls someone from behind. "And Miss Macavoy?"  
  
"It's Katie, come on."  
  
"What?" Heidi spins around and her wallet falls open on the counter, spilling coins.  
  
"Just wondering what the occasion was," smiles the other—it has to be a witch, those robes are too weird for a Muggle.  
  
"You go ahead and finish paying," says Katie. "Come on now, S...Smithers?"  
  
"Summerbee."  
  
"Summerbee, I don't need an  _occasion_  to buy flowers, goodness! Don't you think we ought to smell the roses whenever we want? As it were."  
  
Heidi fumbles for her money, and the bemused cashier makes change. As she leaves she finds Katie and Summerbee still talking animatedly and shakes her head, walking a few blocks before Apparating far away.  
  
Then, of course, she tries to thank Katie later. "You're welcome," Katie shrugs. "...For what?"  
  
"For handling the witch in the Muggle world the other day."  
  
"Heidi, you twit, that's Summerbee at  _Which Broomstick,_  if you 'handled' her you might get an interview every once in a while!"  
  
"...Like I said. Thank you for handling her."  
  
"What's wrong with interviews?"  
  
"It's all full of rubbish like 'why were you buying flowers?'."  
  
"Not if it was with you."  
  
"She clearly had other ideas."  
  
Katie snorts. "Point taken. Anyway, it was nothing, I like doing that."  
  
"Well, I appreciate it."  
  
"All right. So, why were you buying flowers?"  
  
She doesn't blush or turn away, doesn't react enough that Katie has to promise to keep it between them or take back the question or anything like that. And so a moment later she finds herself answering. "They...I took them to Diggory's grave. You remember him, from school, he was our captain."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"It was the anniversary the other day, I dunno...he wouldn't have wanted a big thing, but the others have  _something_."  
  
"Yeah. Too much. I—I knew a lot of them, they'd be sick of the memorials by now, it's been so long."  
  
Heidi nods. "Still."  
  
And at least Katie—most of the Gryffindors, really—can say  _I_  knew  _them and they'd be sick of it because I'm sick of it_. Whereas Heidi's own teammate Adrian, for all he means well and goes to the right ceremonies and bows at the right moments, can only stammer  _I'm sick of it, I'm sick of it, but I've never had the right to speak for anyone._  
  
KB: Huh. Well. Whatever.  
  
PF: But you didn't stay with the Wasps?  
  
KB: No, I'd moved over to Wigtown by that point.  
  
PF: And that was around the time you came back from Canada, Heidi?  
  
HM: Yes, the Portree reserves picked me up.  
  
PF: You must have been happy to be home.  
  
HM: Well, yes and no. See, I wasn't the little prodigy anymore—I was coming from a weaker league and wasn't as young as my teammates. We were all in the same boat, just an injury away from being on the first team, but they—they seemed so much better than me, just talking about all the extra practices they did and I felt left behind. I always showed up on time, always did whatever they asked me to at practice. But then I'd just go back to my flat and be miserable.  
  
PF: How long did that last? A few weeks, months?  
  
HM: Honestly? Most of that first year. I—I kept it all inside, knowing what had just happened, things could be so much worse, I couldn't let myself complain. And I did well, for the reserves, but it felt like I was just breaking down in tears every week. It was even worse than in Muggle school, not knowing I was a witch and just feeling strange—at least then I could beat everyone at football.  
  
PF: So what changed?  
  
HM: Well, a lot of things.

  
The coach of the Wigtown youth team, Herbert O'Shaughnessy, is never found without his Omnioculars. Most people think he's been completely blind ever since that regrettable incident involving a Bludger, a Muggle extension cord, and a Diricawl several years before; either way, he's cast charm after charm on his pair and gets around all right, and he seems to recognize Katie.  
  
"And how's the youth team looking?"  
  
"Er...all right. We hammered Chudley last week and—"  
  
He cuts her off. "I don't care about the score, that doesn't tell us anything. I'm asking how it's  _looking_ , are you in form."  
  
"I guess?"  
  
"They have you trying Reverse Passes?"  
  
"Lots."  
  
"Good. Do you catch more than you pass?"  
  
"I...guess so, yeah, I'm shooting for goal a lot of the time..."  
  
"Good. The other Chasers, you work well with them both?"  
  
"Er, they're all right."  
  
"Neither better than the other?"  
  
"Vaisey's faster. Matsui's better at dodging Bludgers."  
  
"All right. You'll need to be practicing passing to others, of course, make sure you don't get used to flying the same patterns with the same teammates. No telling who you'll be playing alongside in five, ten years—"  
  
"No being sure I'll be in the first division by then," she points out.  
  
"—that's as may be, does the first team ever come by and practice with you?"  
  
"Once in a while."  
  
"Bah, I'll curse out Hill till he drops by. In the meantime—I think it's Portree or Puddlemere, one of the two, have a reserve Chaser just back from Canada. Heidi Macavoy, do you know her?"  
  
"Not really. Do you?"  
  
"Well, she's been in  _Canada_ , that'll have taught her something new. Try practicing with her, do your warmup flights on one of the other moors or somewhere. And maybe she'll let something slip about their tactics."  
  
"That sounds likely."  
  
"Send her an owl, it's worth a try."  
  
"Okay. How do you spell that?"  
  
"Macavoy, M-A-C-A-V-O-Y."  
  
"Okay, thanks. How do you know her?"  
  
"I follow a lot of teams, have to keep track of the competition."  
  
"Do you do this for all the players?"  
  
"A lot of them. When I get around to it."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
O'Shaughnessy pauses. "You know I was captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team?  _Many_  years ago, now."  
  
"I...hadn't known that," she says, her voice growing colder.  
  
"Bah, Gryffindors, they're all the same. We didn't have women on the team very often, you see. But this little slip of an announcer, the year above me, started going over our tactics. Pointed out things I hadn't noticed."  
  
"So did you let her on the team?"  
  
"Nah.  _But_ ," he grins, "we'll be married sixty years this January.  _And_  she has two good eyes. I know talent when I see it. Or when my Omnioculars do."  
  
Katie finds herself nodding. "All right. I'll send her a line."

HM: We just met one day, and started practicing.  
  
KB: You remember O'Shaughnessy, right? From Wigtown...  
  
PF: Oh, goodness yes. He was a great manager.  
  
KB: "Was"? He's still alive.  
  
PF: Seriously?  
  
KB: Well, he lost the use of his legs after that misadventure with the waffle iron, but yes. He was even there for our final match last season...  
  
PF: We'll get to that. But tell me about practices—surely two Chasers isn't enough to accomplish that much?  
  
KB: Oh, you'd be surprised.  
  
It's been a few months now and Heidi is used to hearing Katie gripe about her teammates. She doesn't  _like_  it, really, and she doesn't want to bother Katie with her own complaining, but on occasion it can be pretty ridiculous. "What do you  _mean_  they lost a Bludger?"  
  
"They're pretty rubbish."  
  
"You can't  _lose_  a Bludger. It knows where to find you."  
  
"Not if you Apparate."  
  
Heidi pauses. "Well. Can it follow you, you know, through? With the magic?"  
  
"I don't  _think_  so."  
  
"You don't  _think_  so? What about the Floo?"  
  
"Why would you even have a Bludger in your house?"  
  
"I'm not sure, you're the one who brought this up."  
  
"Okay, well, those guys probably could use the practice. Anyway! Should we see if it shows up?"  
  
"Katie?"  
  
"Yep?"  
  
"Look how late it is, it's not going to show up if we can't see the pitch!"  
  
"It'll make the passes more of a challenge."  
  
"Fine. Whatever. I'll be able to commiserate with your coach, anyway."  
  
So they take off, losing sight of each other much more quickly than the Quaffle. It's blurs of motion, nothing more, but in the silence of the moor even shifting your weight on the broom will carry. Gradually they pull away until they're passing from far off, adjusting ever so slightly to make the catch during the ball's long hang time in between.  
  
"Too far away," Heidi calls, "in a game we'd have been intercepted a dozen times by now."  
  
"Yeah, okay," says Katie, approaching. "Try one-handed, or over your shoulder."  
  
Quicker tosses then, but more time spent swerving for them, guessing in the dark. Then less and less as the arcs become more predictable, more as Heidi veers upwards to try another angle, less as Katie guesses that too, more as Heidi suddenly takes off for the goalposts, keeps going—  
  
"What, you're going to shoot?" Katie calls after her.  
  
"The Bludger, it's here!"  
  
"Oh. Um. Hold on."  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Katie flies closer. "Okay, turn a little that way—got it!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"We have to trap it halfway between us, so it doesn't know which is closest. Then it'll stay still."  
  
"I don't think that woooo—" Heidi swivels again. Katie rolls her eyes, but it's far too dark to see much of anything.  
  
"Okay. Um. Can we hex it?"  
  
"The two of us? Hex a Bludger? With what?"  
  
"Well, something to make it stop moving."  
  
"Katie, it's a  _Bludger,_  I don't think we can do much good."  
  
"All right, maybe if I conjured a box, would that last long enough—"  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay, maybe I'll Floo O'Shaughnessy—"  
  
"At this hour?"  
  
"He'll understand."  
  
"Okay. Katie?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'll keep an eye on this one. You go back to your clubhouse, grab the practice equipment box, and we'll put this back."  
  
"Fine," says Katie, quickly landing. Heidi scoots just close enough to the Bludger that it tails her instead of Katie, before taking off for the goalposts.  
  
A moment later Katie is back, a Beater's bat in tow just in case. "You pop the strap, I'll slug this one in there. On three?"  
  
"Yep!"  
  
"One...two...three..."  
  
 _Fwoosh!_  
  
"Heidi?"  
  
"Yep?"  
  
"You were supposed to open the one that  _didn't_  already have a Bludger inside it."  
  
"...It's dark!"  
  
KB: Put it this way, we always had our equipment put back before sunrise, although Heidi cut it close once or twice.  
  
HM: It was my first time with Beaters' bats, I did well considering.  
  
PF: Have either of you trained for other positions? It helps to be able to substitute on the fly. As it were.  
  
KB: They tried to make me a Seeker at one point. It made sense, I guess. I was lighter than the others, could fly a little faster.  
  
PF: But that didn't last?  
  
KB: A week or two. I was just rubbish, couldn't spot it. Ever.  
  
HM: You're a decent feinter, though.  
  
KB: That only works if there's half a chance I'd  _ever_  see it. Pretty soon the people I scrimmage against get wise.  
  
PF: But it sounds like you two were there for each other? Took the stress away?  
  
HM: Not away. Just reminded me that it was still a game, still fun.  
  
PF: Was coming here much different from playing in Canada?  
  
HM: Excellent question.  
  
KB: Indeed.  
  
After the first few flights she brings a Quaffle along to practice tossing back and forth on the warm-up flights. Heidi's worried they'll be seen, but Katie thinks it's a good chance to practice quick tosses—or Disillusion themselves along with the ball and get used to picking out passes they can barely see.  
  
"And you can tell the show-offs at your youth team," she adds, whenever Heidi seems deep in a funk.  
  
Heidi blushes. "That'll just make things worse."  
  
Still, they're getting better. But Heidi greets her one morning with a quiet "Hullo, Katherine."  
  
"Katie."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's Katie, please, everyone calls me that."  
  
"Doesn't that sound kind of...little kiddish?"  
  
"I get that a lot too," she laughs, and they take off.  
  
Heidi seems like she's brooding over things again, so Katie interrupts a few minutes in. "Tell me about Canada?"  
  
"It's big."  
  
"Thank you. In terms of Quidditch?"  
  
"It's..." she trails off. "Different. I mean, the rivalries—look, I get it, people here are  _mad_  about Quidditch like nothing else, but that's it. When Appleby and Wimbourne play, it's mental, but it's  _just_  Quidditch. D'you know what I mean?"  
  
"Isn't it like that there too?"  
  
"It's more like our football—they use it as an excuse to get angry about anything. I mean, some of those Anglo-French games were like...when we played Ravenclaw in school, that's the closest thing."  
  
"Did you and Ravenclaw not get along?"  
  
"Well, it's the same thing there, you can't do too much since everyone's holding a wand. But one bad foul or one angry chant and the ref would just start kicking fans out before anything got too mental."  
  
"Angry chants?"  
  
"Pureblood nutters, that sort of thing."  
  
"I had no idea. Here it's just mostly  _Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, And Chuck That Quaffle Here._ "  
  
Heidi nods. "Been a while since Puddlemere had any women Beaters, I reckon?"  
  
"No, just a couple years—oh. Huh. Yeah."  
  
"I take it she didn't care?"  
  
"Well, she was only there for a couple seasons anyway, think she's at Chudley now."  
  
"Whatever," says Heidi, "it's just a song, if they cared about how to win matches they'd mention grabbing the Snitch."  
  
"Yeah. Hold on, I'll chuck this one at you."  
  
HM: I guess...Canada compared to here? They  _really_  want the stars to play over there, they'll let you get away with just about anything...  
  
Katie makes her way slowly through the apothecary, weighing ingredients in her hand before carefully measuring them. There's Heidi, across the shop, rummaging through a shelf full of dark vials. Katie paces over. "Hullo?"  
  
"Yes?" Heidi whirls around, clenching her purchase tightly. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"Shopping, you?"  
  
"The same, funnily enough, seeing as how this is an apothecary and all."  
  
"What's that in your hand?"  
  
"What's it to you?"  
  
"Is it for cramps?"  
  
"What are you  _doing_?"  
  
"Trying to make sure you don't get suspended."  
  
"Suspended?"  
  
"The league gets uptight about drug tests, illegal charms and that kind of thing."  
  
"These  _are_  for cramps, it's not performance- _enhancing_ , it's performance- _allowing_ —"  
  
"Maybe in Manitoba it's not. Here you'll want to brew your own."  
  
"Brew what?"  
  
"Just another potion, works almost as well but doesn't fail the tests."  
  
"Almost?"  
  
"You'll be fine, c'mon. Start here with some lavender."  
  
"Have you ever been suspended?"  
  
"Once, from Wimbourne. I filed an appeal, it was fine, just a bear to deal with. Gits down in London think it's clever to ask how often the cramps are, etcetera, etcetera. Once I got over the urge to hex them it was fine."  
  
"And how long did that take?"  
  
"Half an hour."  
  
Heidi raises her eyes, but sets the vial back and lets Katie lead her around the apothecary.

PF: And did you stay friends outside of sport?  
  
"I don't know how to cook," Heidi declares.  
  
"Everyone knows how to cook."  
  
"But...no."  
  
"It's like, we can't get food by magic. Gamp's exceptions. But we  _can_  all cook, to compensate."  
  
"Not me."  
  
"What do you have for breakfast?"  
  
"Cereal? Toast? Fruit?"  
  
"Do you put milk in your cereal? Butter on your toast?"  
  
"Yes, but—"  
  
"Then you can cook. Just a difference of scale."  
  
"Okay, what do you want me to do?"  
  
"Chop this all up. Then throw it in here and boil water."  
  
"With the stove?"  
  
"Yes, with the stove."  
  
"And we're doing this because...?"  
  
"Muggle Mondays. It's tradition."  
  
"It is not tradition."  
  
"It  _will_  be. Look, if you want to chop by magic, you can. But just try."  
  
Dubiously, Heidi reaches for the knife.  
  
KB: Yeah. Definitely.  
  
PF: And all your practice paid off.  
  
KB: Yes, by 2000 Bartram had retired and I'd made the first team.  
  
HM: I assumed I was going to stay with the reserves, which—by then I was just feeling better about things, I would have been fine with it. But then Greengrass signed with Braga and then all of a sudden, there I was.  
  
PF: I assume you both remember the first time you played each other?  
  
HM: The first time? Oh goodness. That must have been—  
  
KB: —the week before—  
  
HM: —the Scrivens game.  
  
Everything about the first team is almost the same, but different. Practicing together has helped, and they blend in with their new teammates easily enough. The tactics are the same, but the more experienced players' quality shines through—getting a Quaffle downfield in two passes instead of four, hovering in just the right place to prevent Chasers from taking a shot instead of having to dive to stop it, knowing where a Seeker will be ten seconds beforehand and aiming the Bludger accordingly. The moors are as tucked away as ever, but the fans are there in full force, and  _loud_.  
  
But after just a few matches with their own teams they've grown used to the chants of support. With the grounds officially neutral, no fan club is that much louder than any other. The banners aren't that bothersome either, not when you're whizzing by too quickly to read.  
  
Neither club is spectacular on defense yet, and later they'll have to learn more subtler strategies—how to hold onto the Quaffle and kill time. Until then there is pass after pass, equalizer after goal, and celebration after celebration.  
  
By the second hour they only nod their congratulations to each other through gritted teeth, and even that is more recognition than their teammates share. Even House teammates from years before will save their reminiscing for after the game, if the game ever ends.  
  
Moon, the Portree Seeker, shoots off towards the posts. Scrivens, his Wigtown counterpart, follows after, quickly overtaking him—except, he doesn't seem to have had a destination in mind. He veers upwards, but Scrivens keeps going, still...  
  
And careens into the post.  
  
There's no subs, of course, so she stays in the game, and does much the same as what she would have anyway—float slowly over the boundary line, back and forth. Still, it's clear she's out of it, and it's all Heidi can do to keep the scoreline down before Moon inevitably comes up with the Snitch.  
  
HM: We were  _winning_  that game, too, by the end. Before your guy caught the Snitch.  
  
KB: By, what, fifty?  
  
HM: Seventy, eighty maybe.  
  
PF: My notes have seventy.  
  
HM: As I said.  
  
KB: Whatever. Moon was worked up about it, poor guy. I tried to tell him she would have been through worse in school, just shrug it off, and go on.  
  
HM: Everyone's used to Wronski Feints, just, not  _horizontal_  ones.  
  
PF: And what happened back in Wigtown?  
  
"You think I still have access to check out equipment whenever I want?"  
  
"Well, I'm not wasting our Snitches."  
  
"After that time on the youth team with the—Snitches?"  
  
"Yep. I'm not wasting ours."  
  
"As well you shouldn't. Do I want to know  _why_  you want our Snitches?"  
  
"Well, it's sort of your team's fault Scrivens might miss next match."  
  
"Was she that badly beat up?"  
  
"They're taking their chances. Remember she's only just back from maternity leave so we have to be careful with her."  
  
"Okay. And they want  _you_  to be backup Seeker?"  
  
"I'm small."  
  
"That—okay. Fine. Fine, you can have our Snitches, if I get access."  
  
"Serious?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Great, that's all I needed to know."  
  
"I'll have to ask our captain if I can check them out—"  
  
"No, I don't actually want them. I  _really_  don't want them."  
  
"Then what are you doing here?"  
  
"You only agreed because you knew I'd be a horrible Seeker,  _anyone_  with half a brain can see that's a silly idea, except our captain. He's trying to look out for Scrivens, bless his heart, but once he knows that the rest of the league is up for this he'll be against it."  
  
Katie blinks. "Oh, you're  _sneaky_! How'd you avoid Slytherin?"  
  
"Mum and Dad," says Heidi, looking down. "I reckon."  
  
"Oh. Sorry. That was dumb of me."  
  
"It's fine." She looks back up and smiles. "I'm glad, really."  
  
HM: Well, Scrivens got better and was fit enough to play the next match. And you all know how that went.  
  
PF: Of course, a tremendous comeback for her and for the team.  
  
HM: And that was, you know—her value went up after that, earned a rich move to Holyhead.  
  
PF: That left you as the only woman on the first team?  
  
HM: Yeah.  
  
PF: And what then, how did you react to that?  
  
HM: Well, I figured, with a younger Seeker, someone less experienced, our games are going to drag on longer now. So that'll give me more chances to score goals, and maybe statistically I'll overtake Katie by the end of the season.  
  
KB: You did not.  
  
HM: No, unfortunately, you still outscored me by a couple dozen.  
  
KB: That's also not how she reacted.  
  
HM: Well, what am I supposed to say? It's not—we're adults, we know how to Apparate home, we're not sharing the locker room that long. It didn't make a difference.  
  
PF: Hmm. All right.  
  
KB: It's different for everyone. I mean, I was the only woman on our team for a while, but then the next season...  
  
Since arriving in Britain, Rocío Guzman has only chattered in Spanish once or twice, but when the Seeker does get a chance to speak her native tongue, she seems to talk almost as fast as she flies, and her eyes dart around the room with the same fervor. Speak English with the new signing, and it's more like a practice—more hesitant, deliberate, but still in control.  
  
Rocío snacks all the time, and Heidi can only assume she too goes on early-morning flies to keep the weight off—she can't be five feet tall, and still, there she is, grabbing another pumpkin pasty. "No one eats together at practice?"  
  
Heidi shrugs. "We're on our own, mostly."  
  
"Not the other teams?"  
  
"Not as far as I know."  
  
"In Tarapoto we always have lunch together. But it's all right."  
  
She nods, coolly. She's not  _jealous_  that Katie has another teammate to practice with—after they'd made their respective first teams they spent less time practicing together and more time just enjoying Muggle Mondays. Oh, they still dissect other teams' strategies and complain about idiot captains, but the actual flight of it isn't quite the same. "Is Katie coming back soon?"  
  
"She had a meeting in London? I think."  
  
"That's fine."  
  
"I can cook, maybe? You want that?"  
  
"Maybe I'll help," Heidi smiles. "I have an idea..."  
  
When Katie gets back, Rocío is just smiling politely. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah! Just meeting with some old friends from school, I'm going to be in an advertisement for their shop."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"On the wireless, I think? Going to go in and record it next week."  
  
"No, where...do your friends live?"  
  
"Oh! In London."  
  
Rocío nods quietly. "Nice, that you only Apparate to see them?"  
  
"Yeah. It must be hard, missing your friends..."  
  
"They're so spread out, though, right?" calls Heidi. "Different countries sharing the same school, not everyone in your school would have been Peru...an? Peruish?"  
  
"Peruvian with a V in," says Katie.  
  
"Yes, that's it," Rocío giggles. "Can be lonely, but not bad."  
  
"All right," says Katie, "Let's get dinner going!"  
  
"No need," Heidi stands up. "We already cooked."  
  
"You did?"  
  
"Yeah,  _cuy_ , it's Peruvian. I had some when I was in Canada, we toured down there."  
  
Katie squints. "It's not  _that_  close..."  
  
"There was a tour. You want to go get it, er, Guzman?"  
  
"You can call me Rocío," she smiles, heading into the kitchen.  
  
"Now, it's not easy to buy over here, so we had to go out and...get it...ourselves."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Heidi reaches for her camera.  
  
Rocío comes back in, proudly bearing the tray and holding what looks very much like a dead guinea pig, fur still intact, speared down with a fork.  
  
Katie shrieks.  
  
Heidi snaps the picture.  
  
"What did you  _do_! Oh you're going to be in  _so_  much trouble, you're  _definitely_  not allowed to—"  
  
" _Finite Incantatem!_ " Rocío interrupts, and the illusion vanishes—it's just a leftover chicken bone, charmed several times.  
  
Once she catches her breath, Katie manages, "I cannot  _believe_  you two."  
  
Heidi pats her camera, grinning. "See, "Muggle Mondays" doesn't translate into Spanish very well."  
  
Rocío nods. "You want  _miercoles_. Wednesday."  
  
"So what are we going to do tonight?"  
  
"Go out for fish and chips," Heidi declares.  
  
And so it's arranged.  
  
HM: Katie, while I think of it, are you still doing those sponsorships?  
  
KB: Oh yeah. Good way to meet other people, make connections in the world outside of the game.  
  
PF: Do you think that's something you'll still do when you're done playing? No rush, of course!  
  
KB: Ha! But yes, definitely, I'd like to stay involved in that.  
  
PF: And Heidi, do you have any ideas for after your career?  
  
HM: I'd like to travel again—by which I mean, hang on in North America maybe, some of the newer leagues as long as I can keep playing. But after that—I don't know. I don't think I'd be a great boardroom leader in terms of signing players, or coaching the reserves, but maybe I could help organize a league somewhere where the game's catching on more. I don't know how things will look in a decade or so.  
  
PF: There's lots of places where Quidditch is growing.  
  
HM: Mmhmm. And some—of the newer markets, where young witches and wizards aren't normally going to school together. I know there are segregated teams at young ages, but I think trying to build mixed teams there, among young kids, could be a good way forward.  
  
KB: What, you're going to coach the Slytherin house team?  
  
HM: Hah. No.  
  
KB: No, seriously, if that's what you want, I think you'd be brilliant at it.  
  
She's nine, maybe ten, not old enough for Hogwarts yet, but plenty old enough to appreciate Quidditch. Especially today, with a picnic and broom games for kids beforehand and autographs afterwards. Because today is the Welsh Derby, Holyhead versus Caerphilly, and the Harpies are going all out.  
  
"Let's play Shuntbumps!" Katie calls when she lines up for the broom games. They  _always_  play Shuntbumps at family reunions, all the cousins, but the witch in charge just blows a whistle at her. They're not going to play Shuntbumps because maybe people will fall off their brooms.  _Boring._  Instead they have to just throw balls back and forth to each other and most of them don't even get to fly, the ones who  _are_  flying are just going back and forth. Ugh. At least the picnic's good.  
  
Caerphilly have set up stuff for adults, more boringness—auctioning off old kits, signed copies of  _Pass It Like Porskoff,_ overpriced Firewhiskey. And they're in control of the actual match all along, although a lot of the crowd doesn't seem to care and is just happy for an excuse to get together and sing. "O! May we all achieve success," the crowd chants, "from far above this wilderness. We stand as one and so we fly along the way while rising high."  
  
The Catapults don't need much time to come up with the Snitch, and the crowd is slow to disperse, not wanting to go home so soon. The Harpies' captain believes her team was the equal of Caerphilly, and is as talented as any man in the secondary game of impugning the referee's species. It's no surprise that the line for autographs isn't moving quickly.  
  
Especially because Katie's stuck behind a  _boy_. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"Waiting for autographs," he answers.  
  
There's a girl next to him, and another set of parents hovering a little farther off than her own. "Oh, all right. Is that your sister?"  
  
"Nuh-uh, we're just friends. Gonna be teammates."  
  
"Maybe," the other girl blushes.  
  
"You'll make the team, come on."  
  
"Where's your Mum and Dad?" Katie presses.  
  
"They're Muggles," she mutters, "they're not here."  
  
"Oh. All right."  
  
"Are you a Harpies fan?" asks the boy's dad.  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Hmm. Caerphilly?"  
  
"Nah. My mum likes Puddlemere..."  
  
"Why'd you come to  _this_  game?"  
  
"They said there'd be broom games. And autographs."  
  
"Aha," he smiles, "of course, of course."  
  
She squints; ahead of them, the line is still long.  
  
HM: I dunno. I guess, at the worst, I think, people keep trying to make me into more than I am. I mean, I'm playing a game, and—and that's it. I  _have_  to be part of the team, that's how the game works...  
  
KB: I know some Seekers who would disagree with you.  
  
HM: Okay, point. But other than that—whether it's, you know, getting called up for Scotland for the first time and all of a sudden it's "don't you feel proud to represent your country." Well...I mean...I'm getting  _capped_ , that would be an honor for anyone. But do I feel proud to be  _Scottish_? I feel lucky to be on a team that doesn't have a big talent pool to draw from.  
  
KB: Shut up, I'm capping for England, you could definitely make our team.  
  
PF: You say "the worst"—obviously you have different challenges now, in your career, since you've made the first team?  
  
HM: Yeah. Once in a while, though—it's still tough.  
  
KB: Think about it...when we have a bad day at work, everybody knows.  
  
When Heidi Apparates in Katie is clenching her wand tightly, staring down the tip of it, with no discernible spell in effect. "Bad time?"  
  
"Bad  _week_." She flops down on a chair. "Can't even cast a stupid Patronus."  
  
"You had one bad match, that's no excuse to turn around and enter the Aurors."  
  
Katie laughs. "No, just a trick I learned in—in school." She gets that look—not nostalgic, exactly, but restless and far-off and Heidi knows not to push her much farther.  
  
"Okay. Is Rocío coming?"  
  
"Nah, she's out with Simões."  
  
"Simões...from  _Falmouth_? Like on a  _date_?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"He's a brute, what does she see in him?"  
  
"Don't ask me."  
  
"Wasn't she with that Muggle bloke?"  
  
"They broke it off, it wasn't serious and he started asking too many questions. She likes having another celebrity, someone who understands her schedule."  
  
"Yeah, he'll have plenty of time to keep up with her when he gets suspended. Again."  
  
"Can we just not talk about work?"  
  
"Yeah, but...okay, fine."  
  
"Thank you. Do you want to go out?"  
  
Truthfully, she does, but she thinks busy Katie trying to make dinner will be easier to manage than restless Katie waiting for food. "Nah, we can cook."  
  
"All right, then."  
  
And for a while it is, with the buzz of the pot drowning out whatever Katie's muttering to herself. But finally she's on about "well, you have Appleby next, and you'll rout them which'll make us look even  _worse_ " and Heidi just interrupts with "I thought we weren't going to talk about work."  
  
"It's just—I don't understand the boardroom, they see everyone play every week, they know how rubbish I am compared to the others."  
  
"Katie—"  
  
"I know, I'm not, but, what if they realize they made a mistake?"  
  
"Katie, you—"  
  
"I  _know_ ," she repeats, assaulting a boiling pot with her wooden spoon, "I just can't make myself  _believe_  it."  
  
"You're not allowed to be jealous of anyone dating Simões."  
  
Katie shoves dinner towards the center of the pot, and for a moment, the bubbles die down. "Yeah. Okay. We have some standards."  
  
KB: I have to say, my own marriage has helped—just having someone else to talk things over with, get a different perspective.  
  
PF: Your husband is a Muggle?  
  
KB: Yeah.  
  
PF: It was a short engagement...  
  
KB: A short courtship, I didn't have to know him very long before deciding yes, he's not like the others, he's worth getting a Secrecy waiver for, and then everything just sort of fell into place.  
  
PF: But you kept your last name.  
  
KB: Well, I was already established in the league.  
  
PF: There's more players doing that these days.  
  
"Sorry to rush," Katie sighs, "early warmups tomorrow before the game."  
  
"Early? It's a noon start, isn't it?"  
  
"The  _game_  is, but all the pregame rubbish beforehand. Testimonial for Weasley."  
  
Heidi shrugs. "No hard feelings. Can't say I'm torn up, though, the league will be a fair sight easier without her."  
  
"They can sign whoever they want, though. Plus their youth team is brilliant."  
  
"Speaking of youth. Aren't you older than her?"  
  
"Couple years, yeah, we were in school together. Why?"  
  
"Don't you think she's sort of young to quit?"  
  
"I'm guessing she wants kids and doesn't want the hassle of getting back into shape and being busy again."  
  
"Lots of people get by, even without having the Man who Lived able to stay at home and play with the kids all day."  
  
Katie shakes her head. "Harry Potter would just want to go to work like any other dad, try and fit in."  
  
"Don't tell me he was on your school team, too."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Never mind."  
  
"I'm not sure...Rick and I have been talking it over, we might try and have kids after I stop playing, it hasn't sunk in for him about the different lifespans yet. I can respect her decision, even if it's not what I would do."  
  
"Oh, I  _respect_  her decision, I just don't think she needs an entire day to go on about it."  
  
"Well...they're not called Harpies for nothing, are they."  
  
Heidi lets herself laugh. Trust Holyhead to tell two sides of every story and assume they've said it all—Ginny Weasley will be the overworked mother who just couldn't compete,  _and_  she'll be the meteoric goalscorer whose career never trailed off and declined like so many washouts. Her team will sulk about how unjust it all is, then push for the title anyway.  
  
"I really should go, tomorrow's going to be long."  
  
"I know, yeah. Good luck getting through it, anyway. Suppose we're best off if you hold each other to a draw, so, a bit of good luck, but not too much."  
  
"I'll see what I can do."  
  
PF: Any misunderstandings?  
  
KB: He doesn't really—I mean, just in terms of wizard-Muggle relations, hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that I'm a celebrity because I'm very good at doing something he just  _can't_.  
  
HM: I don't think that's his biggest concern.  
  
Every dozen years the World Cup and European Cup line up, and in that case either they get the antipodes to host the former or push the latter earlier in the year than usual. 2006 sees the second approach, and so it is that Richard and Heidi huddle together on a frigid moor to see Wigtown take on Grodzisk in the quarterfinals.  
  
"Now, you two are going to be on different national teams. For the World Cup."  
  
"Yes, because officially she's English and I'm Scottish."  
  
"But you only have the one league, between you."  
  
"Uh-huh," she nods, glancing around to watch the Seekers rise up above the rest of the action.  
  
" _And_  both Irelands and Wales mixed in."  
  
"Yeah. Well, it's not so much "both" Irelands for us."  
  
"Even at the World Cup."  
  
"Right."  
  
He takes a few minutes to sort this out and she can go back to watching the match. As Katie leads the Wanderers' in a Hawkshead Attacking Formation, he asks for the fourth or fifth time "So there  _are_  such things as  _actual_  goblins?"  
  
"Yes," Heidi repeats, "but  _these_  are  _not_  goblins."  
  
"It's just a nickname."  
  
"But there are goblins."  
  
"Yeah, they don't even play Quidditch."  
  
"It's just you witches."  
  
"Well. And wizards."  
  
"Put it this way, is there anything or anyone here that isn't a human?"  
  
She's not sure whether this was her parents' biggest sticking point with the magical world, but she might as well try to answer. "I don't  _think_  so. They say there's some ghosts on some of these, I think, but I've never seen them."  
  
"You have  _ghosts_?"  
  
"A couple."  
  
"Don't you live long enough as it is?"  
  
"Dunno, it's weird."  
  
Maybe it's just her frustration at his continual interruptions when she wants to watch Auttenburg's Bludgers, Katie's pass, Piatek's kick save, that there doesn't seem to be  _enough_  of the game. She can almost imagine choosing something less and more than life, watching the teams blur into each other, evolve over time. Then she watches Richard excitedly scan the skies for Katie and remembers that there is a rhythm to life.  
  
PF: Well. I suppose you've said most of what there is to say already, but how about that final day last year?  
  
KB: I'm not sure I'll ever be done talking about it.  
  
The Wanderers and the Harpies enter the final day tied for first place; if one wins and the other loses, the winner will take the championship. Otherwise, it comes down to points difference, which the latter lead by three goals; if  _that_ 's tied, Holyhead will win based on their head-to-head results.  
  
It shouldn't matter, Heidi tells herself, with Portree well out of contention. If Holyhead win, no one will remember her attempts to play spoiler. The women they cheer will be separate—not having to worry about fitting in, about the shared locker rooms, about any of that.  
  
Sometimes she wishes she'd stayed awake more in Divination, just to see what could happen next. Having four home nations splits the talent pool too much to have competitive separate men's and women's national teams, but there are always a few pushing for it. A Harpies victory could convince people that a separate women's team is viable in the home nations, but if other countries used that as an excuse to split teams and then ignore the women, what if, what if...  
  
 _Stupid_ , she tells herself,  _it's_  sport,  _you don't know what's coming, that's the brilliance of it._  And she takes to the air.  
  
Above another moor—distant as the broom flies, close when it comes to Apparition—the Wanderers begin, and while they don't know what's coming either, against Chudley they have a pretty good idea.  _Run up the score,_  they'd told each other,  _we don't know how long the Harpies will go._  
  
And so for the first fifteen minutes Katie tries, racking up goal after goal and pass after pass. Except, Chudley are almost keeping pace. The Seekers are low to the ground, no signs of action there, but Wigtown's defense just isn't up to par. Every time the Cannons pull a goal back they look at each other in increasing disbelief. It can't be happening, not now, not to _Chudley_.  
  
But it is. They lead by forty—fifty, as Katie drains another shot—forty, conceding a dumb penalty, thirty, twenty, thirty again, too close for comfort. Their ears twitch to anything from the commentator's booth, but Dragomir Gorgovitch's analysis is being transmitted by wireless to the Harpies' game so  _they_  know how bad the scoreline is, while everyone in the stadium is focusing on the broadcast of Portree-Holyhead to keep track of  _that_  goal difference.  
  
The announcer says something about Pucey putting away another penalty shot, but before Katie can calculate what that means, Alfred Parkins sends a Bludger downwards at the Cannons' Seeker. He swerves to avoid it and keeps spiraling downwards, jerking out this way and that. If the championship wasn't on the line she'd almost be tempted to make sure the referee is looking out for him in case of an injury, but he veers upward at the last second in a one-handed maneuver...  
  
and the whistle blows, and he makes an ungainly return to the ground, Snitch in tow.  
  
 _No._  She lets herself start whimpering once she sees her numb teammates are doing the same; anything but this. They could have gone head-to-head with the Harpies, lost, but known the season was on the line. They could even have got bruised by Falmouth, hurt as much physically as they do mentally, and that wouldn't have been so bad (although it might take her a few months to get back on speaking terms with Rocío). But not  _Chudley._  
  
Someone Apparates to the Harpies game to tell them the final score differential (minus one-twenty). The orange fans sing, and the silent crowd in blood red lets them—being involved in a match with title implications by season's end, never mind winning it, was far more than Chudley ever expected. They're still eleventh of thirteen, they can have something to celebrate.  
  
And then—she's lost track of how long it's been, but later—some other noise ripples through the crowd. There's a muttering from the Wigtown fans, whispering, confusion, and the radio broadcast is different. The chants of the crowd at the Harpies match have given way to the announcer stammering. "Play has been stopped..." Katie makes out. "...the referee casting spells on the Snitch, accessing the flesh memory."  
  
"A disputed catch?" she wonders. Daring to hope, maybe...  
  
"Even if Portree catch the Snitch, Holyhead have to have been... _losing_ ," Rocío says slowly.  
  
"Right, they were up by thirty and we lost by one-twenty. So...were they losing? I couldn't hear."  
  
"They were tied. I have more time to listen, doing nothing—"  
  
"Shut up, you're brilliant, Chudley just got lucky."  
  
"But if they were tied, we lose either way. Even if we catch the Snitch, the goal difference is the same, and they win on head-to-head."  
  
"Right."  
  
"So what's taking them this long?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You're the Seeker, is there anything else they'd want to find out from the Snitch?"  
  
Rocío closes her eyes and thinks. "The time. It stores the information, down to the second, that it was first touched, but I'm not sure why you'd ever want that..."  
  
Their teammates have joined them, standing on the edge of the pitch. At first it was just to acknowledge their fans, appreciate their support even if the final game wasn't quite enough. But as Rocío murmurs her unsteady English something flickers in their eyes. No one knows who figures it out first—they don't have time to speak—and then there's a wave of incoming Apparitions from the other stadium, the league commissioner bearing the trophy— _their_  trophy—in tow.  
  
"How..." Rocío gapes.  
  
"Macavoy scored!" scream the fans rising up behind them. "Another goal at the end—" "they were winning  _before_  the Snitch was caught—" "but it came down to a matter of seconds—" "that's why they had to check—"  
  
"Heidi?  _Heidi!_ "  
  
She's there, a few steps behind the trophy, completely winded but grinning and blushing. Katie sprints over and embraces her, and the rest of the Wanderers pile in. Wigtown are the champions and every goal has mattered—every shot Katie scored, every shot blocked, every Bludger aimed or Snitch grabbed not a moment too soon. Until they have Pensieves and can live the season again, revisit every moment that got them this far, they'll settle for cheering the Chaser who scored the winning goal—even if it's not one of their own.  
  
When she catches her breath, she just says "I didn't do this for you."  
  
Katie laughs. "We know."  
  
HM: What's strange about that day was that everyone wound up at your pitch—the Harpies fans couldn't believe what happened, they all went home, and our fans just sort of followed us over there.  
  
KB: Yeah, and even the Chudley fans didn't mind too much—it just turned into one big party.  
  
HM: A few too many fireworks, afterwards, as I remember...  
  
KB: It was far away from Muggles, we were fine.  
  
PF: Do you think this influenced your callups to the national teams?  
  
KB: Not that match, specifically—the people in charge know what they're doing, one game couldn't have made that much difference.  
  
HM: No, me neither, I'd played a few friendlies beforehand so I was on their radar. Although I do think it made me more of a household name.  
  
PF: And what do you expect for the upcoming World Cup?  
  
KB: I'm excited. There's no accounting for how the game works out sometimes but we have a strong team, certainly we can make the knockout stages and beyond that it's anyone's to win.  
  
HM: Our draw is difficult—Uganda will be a challenge. But I'm honored to be part of the team.  
  
PF: Any chance you'll face each other?  
  
HM: It wouldn't be possible till the final. We'll see!  
  
KB: Ooh, someone's looked at the bracket.  
  
PF: Well, best of luck to both of you.  
  
HM: Thank you.  
  
PF: Just one thing, before we go. You two—women still somewhat of a minority in this league, and on your national teams. But I'm curious, have there ever been any upsides to it? Opportunities you wouldn't have had otherwise?  
  
KB: I'm not sure. I mean, I think our friendship sort of grew out of that, being outnumbered like you said. And that's something that means a lot to me, but then again, who knows what might have happened otherwise.  
  
HM: Advantages? Oh, I can think of one thing...  
  
"Whoa!" Katie turns away from dinner to admire Heidi's skirt. "Looking stylish!"  
  
"Thank you," says Heidi, and all of a sudden can't stop herself from giggling.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Well...you know...our friendly against Togo is tomorrow."  
  
"Your first cap, yeah, that's brilliant!"  
  
"There's a lot of newcomers to the national team, see, it's not something to pull the veterans away from their clubs for."  
  
"All the same, that's a huge achievement. Watch, you'll make the oh-six full squad, you'll see."  
  
"I'm not—it's just, a lot of us today had never been on the team before."  
  
"Okay, so what?"  
  
"So, we all had to get together and practice and pose for a picture, and all that. Drum up a bit of nationalism before the big match."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"So,  _I_  was able to change out of my game clothing and into this fancy tartan," she nods, "all well and good."  
  
"And..."  
  
"Let's just say my, well, gentleman teammates were  _not_  expecting to have to show off their Scottish pride by wearing  _kilts_. There are going to be a lot of scowls in the  _Daily Prophet_  tomorrow..."

**Author's Note:**

> The derby chant comes from the Welsh hymn, "Llef."
> 
> For a bunch more of my brainstorming and speculation about the demographics of the Quidditch league, see here: http://primeideal.dreamwidth.org/6313.html#cutid1


End file.
